by Tasha Black
“You named the food you desired and moments later it was handed to you,” he said. “No food could be prepared that quickly. It must have been conjured.”
“Huh,” Tabitha said. “I guess it is like magic. But it isn’t really. That restaurant always has food prepared and held in a warming device. That way they can wrap it up while you’re paying, and then you just drive off with it.”
“Is there ample demand for such a service?” Tristan asked, wondering how they could predict which of the hundreds of foods on the sign they should be holding warm.
“Oh yes,” Tabitha said. “We love our fast food.”
“Fast food,” he echoed. That tracked.
“Go ahead, give it a try,” she urged him. “You’ll feel better.”
He opened one of the boxes.
A wave of fragrant heat rose from it.
Inside, something round was wrapped in waxed paper. Next to it was a paper sleeve of some sort of pale sticks covered in salt crystals.
“Try the fries first,” Tabitha advised.
“Is that the sticks, or the round thing?” he asked.
“The, uh, sticks,” she said, dimples appearing on her cheeks.
He pulled one gingerly from its sack and popped it in his mouth.
Instantly he was enchanted with the warm, salty, fatty taste.
“You love it, right?” she asked.
“What is this?” he asked. “What is it made of?”
“That, my friend, is a potato,” she told him.
“It can’t be,” he said, even as his chest warmed at her calling him my friend.
He grabbed another one and closed his eyes as he tasted it.
Sure enough, there was the hint of a cooked potato taste under the rest of the flavors.
He ate one after another until they were all gone. Then he pulled out the paper wrapped circle.
“That’s a cheeseburger,” Tabitha explained. “Ground beef inside a bun with a piece of cheese.”
“A sandwich,” he said, a little disappointed that the second treat was less exotic. But the slivered potatoes had spurred his appetite. He was glad to have more food of any kind.
“Technically I guess it’s a sandwich,” Tabitha said. “See what you think of it.”
He unwrapped it and took a bite.
The meat had an unnatural taste, but not unpleasant, and it blended nicely with the salty orange substance Tabitha seemed to think was cheese. Tiny onions and some sort of sweetened tomato paste added a bit of flavor.
“Mmm,” he said approvingly, finishing it in one bite.
“Wow,” Tabitha said. “You liked it?”
He was already digging around the box to see what else there was.
“Oh, don’t eat that,” Tabitha said as he pulled out something hard wrapped in a clear cell.
“What is it?” he asked, examining it.
“It’s a toy,” she told him. “That’s why kids love happy meals. Tasty food, and then a toy to cheer you up when your meal is gone.”
Tristan released the toy from its cell. It had a flat round glass section and a black handle on which were emblazoned the words Super Spy.
“You got a magnifying glass,” Tabitha said. “Hold that up against your sleeve and look at the weave of the fabric.”
He did as she said, though he had seen a magnifying glass before.
“I like this happy meal,” he declared. “Why would mortals ever eat anything else?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be healthy to eat it for every meal,” Tabitha said. “But it makes a nice treat, doesn’t it?”
“Do you want me to drive the carriage while you eat?” he offered.
“Oh, uh, no we’d better not do that,” Tabitha said. “Do you want to feed me?”
This sounded suspiciously like flirting.
He studied her profile.
Her eyes were twinkling, and he could see the dimple on her cheek again.
He opened her box and pulled out a French fry.
She smiled and opened her mouth and he popped the food in.
“Mm,” she said appreciatively.
He fed her more fries, nearly shivering each time her lips grazed his fingers.
“That’s enough,” she told him when most of the fries were gone. “You finish them.”
“Do you want your sandwich?” he offered.
“It’s a cheeseburger,” she said. “And yes, I do.”
He unwrapped it and held it to her lips.
She took a few bites. “Let’s have something to drink.”
He grabbed one of the cups and slid a straw into it, holding it up to her mouth.
Her pink lips closed around the straw and she moaned in appreciation.
It was good Tristan was not driving the carriage. He would have led them into a ditch.
“Try it,” she urged him.
He pulled the beverage from her lips and placed the straw in his own mouth, taking a deep pull.
Something cold, sweet, creamy filled his mouth, like chocolate, only much sweeter. He had no idea sugar could be so plentiful. Everything here was almost unbearably sweet. But it was so good.
“Incredible,” he admitted, offering it to her again.
“You see, mortals have nice things, too,” she teased, taking another sip. “I mean it’s not magic, but it might as well be, right?”
He hated to agree, but she was right.
“I suppose you do,” he told her. “Do you want more cheeseburger?”
“It’s probably all clammy by now,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He smiled and picked up the sandwich, holding it in the palm of his hand.
He called just the tiniest swirl of magic and watched as golden sunlight ensconced the bun for a moment.
Tabitha glanced over, wide eyed.
“Focus on driving,” he warned her. “I’ll feed you.”
She took the next bite, and when she groaned in appreciation of the warmth he had provided, he felt a pang of delight.
Whatever she might say about being his queen, he was very sure she was his. It was only a matter of time until she warmed to his suit.
15
Tabitha
About an hour later, Tabitha pulled down the bumpy driveway with the sign that said Mountain Arts Center.
They drove past clusters of wild blueberry bushes between tall sycamores until they reached a gravel parking area.
She wasn’t sure exactly how many cars she had expected to find at a place like this, but it was far more crowded than she could have imagined.
“Ready?” she asked Tristan.
He had grown quiet after their meal, but she figured it was the food and the drive lulling him.
“Of course,” he said.
They hopped out and headed into the low wood frame building with the mosaic sign for the arts center.
The place was smaller than Tabitha expected. It looked more like a summer camp than an arts facility. Smaller buildings were scattered across the meadow behind the main building.
A middle-aged woman wearing a kaftan came to the door as they entered, the long dress fluttering a bit in the warm spring breeze.
“Hello there,” she said in a muted tone, looking Tristan up and down and ignoring Tabitha completely.
“We’re here to see, uh, Sandalwood Burke,” Tabitha said, hoping that Helen was right about the new name. “We came up from Rosethorn Valley.”
“Oh, how lovely that you drove so far to be here,” the woman said. “Please, right this way.”
They followed her into a large room with a vaulted beamed ceiling.
At the center was an open casket.
Crap.
They had managed to arrive just in time for a funeral. That was going to make it difficult to corner the man and talk business about the violin.
“There he is, dear,” kaftan lady said fondly, gesturing to the casket.
Double crap.
That was going to make it a lot more difficult.
<
br /> “You can feel free to take a lock of his hair,” the woman explained. “He wanted all his loved ones to take a piece of him with them.”
Tabitha looked closer and realized the man in the casket had a long beard and hair past his shoulders. Hastily chopped chunks were already missing from both. A pair of scissors sat on a small table next to him.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, wow.”
“Make yourselves at home,” caftan lady said. “The drum circle will start in a few minutes. You can ask for me if you need anything. I’m Crystal.”
Of course you are.
The mourners were all seated on cushions on the floor. There was nothing to do but join them and try to think of their next move.
Tabitha moved along the edge of the room and selected a set of cushions that was close to the exit, and not too close to anyone else.
Tristan sat beside her.
“What do we do now?” he whispered to her after a moment.
“I’m thinking,” she said. She definitely hadn’t prepared for this. “I guess we need to find out where he lived.”
“We should ask Crystal,” Tristan said.
“Yes, but we can’t just do that right now,” Tabitha told him. “It will look like we haven’t paid our respects.”
“We didn’t know him,” Tristan pointed out.
“But if we tell her that, she won’t tell us where he lived,” Tabitha said. “It will look suspicious.”
“Hm,” Tristan said.
“We’ll stick around until they start the drum circle,” Tabitha said.
A woman in front of them turned around and glared.
Tabitha shrugged at Tristan and they settled in quietly.
After a seemingly endless meditation, a young man in a scraggly beard hopped up and addressed the group.
“Okay, people, enough sadness,” he said. “We all know what Sandalwood would have wanted.”
There was a series of whoops and cheers from the people on the cushions.
“Bring out the drums,” the bearded guy said.
A group of other men carried Sandalwood’s casket away as a lively bunch of musicians brought drums up to take his place.
“Come on, stand up,” the bearded guy yelled. “He would have wanted you to dance.”
Tristan hopped to his feet and offered Tabitha his hand.
She tried to envision a world in which his kind of dancing would mesh with whatever would be expected at this hippie funeral, and came up dry.
Well, at least they were in the back.
The drumming began. The drummers themselves moved sinuously as they struck their instruments.
The need to move was contagious. Suddenly Tabitha was grateful that they had been encouraged to join in.
The whole room moved as one, bopping and jumping and swaying to and fro.
Beside her, Tristan danced enthusiastically. The moves looked incredible on his big body and she almost stopped dancing herself to watch.
A sense of well-being and contentment filled her, and she let go and danced wildly.
“Hey big fella,” the bearded guy called out. “You’ve got some sweet moves. Come on up here, show us how it’s done.”
Tabitha realized he was talking to Tristan.
Tristan smiled languidly and danced his way up to the front.
Tabitha held her breath, unsure what he would do, but somehow feeling more anticipation than fear about it.
Tristan began to dance in earnest as the drummers hollered for him.
Before long, the whole room was dancing frenziedly, each mourner smiling ear to ear and really letting loose. She’d never seen a funeral so happy.
Suddenly, it hit Tabitha what Tristan must be doing.
Smart.
The light king bent to whisper something in the bearded guy’s ear. The guy nodded and whispered something back. Tristan gave the crowd a big wave and danced his way back to Tabitha.
“Let’s go,” he murmured in her ear. “Before it wears off.”
She took his offered hand and they slipped into the lobby and out the doors of the building into the parking lot.
“We don’t know where we’re going,” she said.
“I do,” he told her with a smirk.
“That guy told you,” she realized.
“He would have told me anything I wanted to know,” Tristan said.
“Well, I’m glad he told you that,” Tabitha replied. “Let’s get in the car. We can put the address into GPS and hopefully get there before dark.”
Tristan nodded and opened the car door for her.
She smiled up at him.
Though she wasn’t wild about the tattoo she hadn’t asked for, there was something nice about having a polite, super-powerful magical being as a boyfriend.
16
Tristan
Tristan tried to relax when they got in the car.
Tabitha entered the address they had been given into her device while he focused on taking deep breaths.
He had done his best to remain calm while they were in that building, but now he was beginning to lose his resolve.
The man in that coffin had been decidedly less than a century old - a baby in Tristan’s eyes.
And he was dead. He would never walk again or dance or sing or eat happy meals.
“They’re like any other animal,” he remembered his nanny telling him as they watched from the trees while mortals picnicked in the woods.
“But they look just like us,” he’d protested.
“They only live a hundred years, if they’re lucky,” Nanny had chuckled. “They’re a fine imitation of the folk, but they haven’t our wisdom and immortality. Trust your old Nanny and keep away. Consorting with mortals is a recipe for heartbreak on both sides.”
And he had kept away.
Until now.
Now, he had formed a deep bond with this mortal woman, and he would see her in her own coffin in the blink of an eye.
“Are you okay?” she asked him, those deep blue eyes filled with concern.
But he couldn’t say what was in his heart. It would frighten her, or, at the very least, offend her.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
She frowned but started the car. They pulled out of the gravel lot and headed farther up the narrow road they’d come in on, past clusters of small houses near the road, and signs with hand painted house numbers pointing toward long dirt driveways.
At last, Tabitha pulled the carriage down a dirt path that led to a series of ramshackle cottages.
“This is the one, I think,” she said, parking in front of the most humble dwelling of all.
A corrugated metal roof hung over the faded teal paint of the wood shanty.
They approached the front door and knocked.
No answer.
“I’m going to peek in the window,” Tabitha suggested.
“Don’t bother,” Tristan told her, extending his hand toward the door handle. It would be easier if no one knew they were there. They could take what they needed and be gone from this place.
“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice boomed from right behind them.
Tabitha jumped and Tristan caught her by the elbow.
“We’re looking for Sandalwood Burke’s place,” Tabitha said breathlessly.
The woman eyed her with frank suspicion. She was older, with tanned skin that looked extra-wrinkly, and an orange T-shirt that said NOPE in large black letters across her ample bosom.
“Are you here to pay his back rent?” the woman asked.
“He, um, he had something that belonged to me,” Tabitha said.
“Join the club,” the woman laughed. “I thought I’d never get my table saw back. But the bastard dropped dead and here we are. Best thing he ever did as a tenant.”
“May I look through his things for my item?” Tabitha asked.
“Too late for that,” the landlady answered. “I took the rest of his miserable stuff to the pawn shop. Not that
it was worth enough to pay what he owed me.”
“Which pawn shop?” Tabitha asked.
“Why should I help you?” the woman asked, suddenly, looking over Tabitha’s shoulder at her shining horseless carriage.
Tristan could imagine the woman making calculations in her head, trying to think of how much coin Tabitha was worth. He didn’t have the best handle on how money worked in this realm, but he didn’t need anything more than the look in her eyes to know this woman was plotting to take advantage of his queen.
The very notion filled him with an icy rage. But he tamped it down and drew on his inner strength instead.
“Sweet lady,” he said, calling on the Light. “We can see how this vagabond made you suffer. If he were to know that my companion had recovered her lost violin, I assure you the fires of hell would burn more agonizingly for him.”
This thought must have appealed to the hag. A dreamy look appeared in her squinty eyes.
“And I would personally like to give you a month of his back rent in thanks,” Tabitha added. “If you can let me know how much that was.”
“A nice gesture,” the woman replied. “It was three-uh-four hundred dollars a month.”
“Four hundred dollars,” Tabitha said. “Very good.”
Tristan and the woman watched as Tabitha wrote something out on a piece of paper in a small booklet, then looked up at the woman.
“Make it out to Velma Hall,” the woman said.
Tabitha wrote a bit more and then ripped the small page out to hand to the woman.
The woman grasped it greedily. “There’s only one pawn shop in town. It’s on the main drag.”
She was a clever hag. They would have found the shop themselves.
Tristan had to give her his grudging respect.
“Thank you for your help,” Tabitha told her earnestly. “I hope his estate will take care of the rest of his debt to you.”
“I doubt it,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “Good luck finding your fiddle, sweetie.”
They set off again. The light was fading fast and the trip down the winding hillside road was slower than the uphill drive had been.
“You didn’t have to give her so much coin,” Tristan said at length. “She was lying about his rent.”
“I know,” Tabitha said. “But it was worth it if we find the violin. Besides, it’s best if she feels good about the transaction. That violin is worth far more than whatever the pawn broker gave her for it.”
